We are a species obsessed with sides.

We draw them in the sand, we etch them in doctrine. We build them into our nations. Everywhere you look, politics, family feuds, and even church potlucks. There's an invisible line, us and them.

But here's the scandal: The God, we keep trying to conscript to our side, refuses to enlist.

This god blesses the fields of the righteous and the unrighteous.

This god eats with Pharisees and prostitutes with saints and screw ups.

This god keeps crossing the lines we defend and loving the people we'd rather exclude.

That's the dangerous, promiscuous, boundary breaking nature of grace.

And that's where we're going today.

I'm Jeremy Johnson, and you're listening to Slutty Grace.

Before we begin, I want to just take a moment and say thank you for listening. I really do appreciate you taking the time to download, follow, and let others know about this podcast.

All right, let's jump in.

When I was a kid, boys from the neighborhood would gather to play football in the school field. We chose captains. 

Those captains would choose teams, and one team would take off their shirts becoming the Skins team. The other team would be, well, the Shirts. (Brilliant, right?)

Setting down a couple of sweatshirts for goal lines, the 2 teams would begin their combat, and the arguments would immediately start.

"That's off sides."

"You caught it out of bounds."

"Look, the line's right here."

"You rushed before the 7th alligator."

"You only touched me with one hand."

"Did not! It was two."

Half the game was spent fighting over who was in, who was out, which side was right. And we loved it because sides gave us belonging. A team to defend, an enemy to resist.

But here's the truth.

I don't remember the scores of those games.

I don't even remember who won or lost.

What I do remember is the laughter, the sweat, and the grass stains.

The sides were the least real part of the game.

Religion isn't much different.

We draw lines, who's in, who's out? Whose doctrine is pure, whose practice is corrupt. And sometimes we spend so much time guarding the borders and taking sides that we forget the point of the whole thing.

Love, joy, and communion.

So, sides.

Jesus was constantly accused of being on the wrong side. He ate with tax collectors, prostitutes, zealots, he healed Romans. He told stories where Samaritans were the heroes.

In Luke, the Pharisee sneered, this man welcomes sinners and eats with them. And that's what sets up his parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, the prodigal son, each one a reminder, hey, you draw lines, I cross those lines to go after those I love.

Matthew records Jesus saying, God sends rain on the just and the unjust alike. God waters the fields of the corrupt politician and the humble farmer. God refuses to play favorites.

And Paul dares to claim, in Christ, there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, male nor female. All are one. That was outrageous then, and it still is.

This is partly why I believe in universal love and grace. I don't believe God takes our side against theirs. I believe God is radically for all.

Grace refuses tribal alliance.

She'll show up at your table and your enemies.

She'll heal you and the one you prayed against too.

I wish I lived this truth easily. But the truth is, I kind of like sides. I like being right.

I remember a time after teaching the traditional gospel story (You know the one, except Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior, be with him forever and be saved from an eternal conscious torment in hell), a middle schooler came up to me and asked a genuine question.

"My dad is Mormon, is he going to hell?"

Now, I paused.

I considered the ramifications of his question and told him the Truth. 

"Yes, the Bible says he is."

And I saw his soul drop through his eyes, and he walked away.

Talk about sides. Talk about being confidently, quote, "right". Talk about us and them, the saved and unsaved, those who are right and those who are wrong.

And when I walked away, I felt hollow after that conversation, and to this day, I feel sick and sad recalling the story and what I said. I mean, how could anyone say that to a 12 year old?

I guess back then, I could.

But letting go of sides is terrifying. If God doesn't take my side, then I don't get to be the hero anymore. I'm not on the winning team.

But it's also freeing because if God doesn't take sides, then God isn't against me either. Even when I tell 12 year olds that their dads are going to hell. 

Even when I'm the one building walls, Grace finds a way in.

And let's face it, look around our world.

It is addicted to sides, left and right, red and blue. Believer in skeptic, traditional, progressive.

And the church isn't immune.

We build denominations like fences. We slap on labels heretic, fundamentalist, liberal, apostate. 

We imagine God huddled with us on the street corner whispering, "You're the faithful ones. You're the pure ones. You're the ones with the correct belief."

But if we take Jesus seriously, God is already across the street, sharing a meal with the people that we just excluded.

Grace is disloyal to our factions.

She crawls under fences, sneaks across borders and shows up at the drag show and the revival tent, the mega church and the AA meeting. And that's why Grace offends because it refuses to make us special at someone else's expense.

And honestly, that stings.

I want grace for me and mine and not for those who hurt me and my family.

But maybe that's exactly where Grace insists on going. To the corners we never choose, and to the tables we swore we'd never sit at.

Some churches practice what's called closed communion or closed Eucharist.

It's the notion that the blood and body of Christ, the bread and the wine or grape juice in some cases, is only for those who are saved, who belong, who are Catholic, or whatever. And if you don't meet the criteria, you are asked not to take it politely, but you're still asked to not take it.

And there came a time in my journey when I said, "I will always refuse to take clothes communion that is not open to all—even if I meet the exclusive criteria, I will stay seated.

But why?

Because picture Jesus being at a party or a gathering.

Everyone is having a great time and deeply connecting in the living room. And then the host says, okay, time for dinner, but only invites his family or those with dark hair or his old college buddies or whomever, and the rest are asked to stay on the couch.

Where do you suppose Jesus would go? Join the exclusive at the dinner table or sit with those rejected on the couch?

Jesus would be on the couch.

And that is my personal conviction to this day. I will always remain seated with those who were rejected from taking Jesus' meal.

So wherever you find yourself today, whatever side you've been placed on or chosen for yourself, know this: 

Grace has already crossed the border.

Grace is already with you and with them and with all of us.

The God who refuses to take sides has everybody's side.

May you feel love in the places you least expect.

May you discover belonging, not because you picked the right camp, but because you were already embraced.

And may you walk in the mystery of a god who scandalizes our divisions, a grace who is reckless with her love, and a love that always, always finds a way.

Thank you for listening. Remember to walk in grace and, if you can, share that grace.